


Beneath the Burned Dust

by DericBindel



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Dialogue Heavy, Implied Nonspecific Character Death, Implied mass deaths, Implied relationship but its understated, M/M, Older and more mature Mike, Older and more mature Tillman, Post-Apocalypse, Speculative Future of Blaseball, Survivor Guilt, Weird Shadows, moderate swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DericBindel/pseuds/DericBindel
Summary: Mike Townsend and Tillman Henderson in search of something that will help out the league after a cataclysmic future season.
Relationships: Mike Townsend/Tillman Henderson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Beneath the Burned Dust

**_[ The Sun2 hangs low in the sky, filtering everything into hues of golds and reds. Despite the angle, the shadows remain shallow and short. The ruined city around the occupants of the sole running car stretches out for miles in each direction. This was once Seattle. It’s dust now. ]_ **

**_[ The car has been making its way along the torn up roads, winding between fallen buildings like a river through a valley. There is music playing, but it is not enough to drown out the silence of the landscape. ]_ **

**_[ The sky is clear, the weather is hot and dry. ]_ **

**_[ At least the monstrosities aren’t out yet. ]_ **

**_[ The car pulls off the road, into what was once a park. The husks of burnt trees are scattered about, a reminder of what happened all those years ago. The dry earth beneath the off-road tires kick up dust clouds behind the car. Roughly patched holes, and uncountable dents cover the car, an old camry that has seen a number of battles and crashes over its long life. Eventually, the car pulls up to a large rusted hatch, something that clearly used to be covered by now burned foliage._ **

**_[ Two figures get out of the car, wearing patchwork clothes, guns and other weapons holstered around them. The taller of the two steps over towards the hatch, the shorter stays by the car, surveying the area around them, shotgun now in hand, clearly having learned to always expect the worst. . . ]_ **

Tillman: 

Hey dipshit! You know as well as I do to check surroundings before running off!

Michael: 

**_[ Mike sighs, and pats the gun slung around his back. ]_ ** Remember when I was the one telling you that, asshole?! We're gonna be fine, there’s still like, a solid hour, if not more, until the sun blinks out. Besides, once we get this hatch open, we’ll have a lot more protection underground.

Tillman: 

We better, there’s only so many times we can patch each other up.

Michael: 

I'm glad your confidence in this plan has increased so much.

**_[ Mike reaches the hatch, and begins to check around the rim for the access console. He finds it, but the glass has been shattered. ]_ **

Michael: 

Well, shit. I guess we’re gonna have to use the manual override. Figured we would but this was worth a shot. **_[ He looks up from the console, and walks along the rim to find the override panel he needs to remove. ]_ **

**_[ The rust and scorch marks all along the hatch don’t make the most promising of signs. They had driven here all the way from Charleston, a journey of weeks. Tillman had not been shy about the misgivings he had about this trip. He also wasn't shy about saying Screw the World, We Have Each Other, and wanting to run off to some hidden corner of the world. Mike begins to nervously tap his fingers, then realizes that Tillman was talking to him. ]_ **

Tillman: 

Hey, you even listening?

Michael: 

Sorry, I was trying to get this panel open. The electronic access is unusable, naturally. What were you saying?

Tillman: 

Nevermind, I’ll fuckin’ ask you when we’re inside.

Michael: 

Well then, mister, can you help me get this open? Or at least get the stuff from the car? We probably won’t be back out before nightrise.

Tillman: 

Yeah, sure. **_[ He glances around a final time. Satisfied they aren’t going to get jumped, he opens the other car door and grabs the various bags and satchels tucked onto the back seat, then heads to Mike. As he closes the distance, Tillman flexs with the satchels in hand. Mike is too busy cranking the manual-release lever to notice. Tillman drops some of the bags next to Mike in a huff. ]_ ** So uh, guess you got this, then? Sweet.

Michael: 

**_[ Mike wipes the sweat off his brow before looking up at Tillman, having opened the hatch enough for the two to enter. ]_ **Your help is appreciated as always.

**_[ Tillman peers over the edge of the now open access-shaft, and sees the intense darkness below. The shadows here look thick and fearful. He hopes they aren't territorial. ]_ **

Tillman: 

Damn, I was hoping it would be a little brighter down there. Didn't you say this place was built for emergencies?

Michael: 

Well, yes. **_[ He hefts the bags up off the ground, and clips them into place. He shakes a little, making sure the weight settles comfortably. He moves over to the ladder, and peers over the edge as well. ]_** Hmm. . . I was expecting the emergency lights to be on, but I guess they either gave out, or the shadows messed with them. The flashlights should still work. . . **_[ He clicks on his flashlight, and points it down into the murky depths. Slowly, the shadows clear away, like fog blown away by a fan, and the bottom of the shaft is illuminated. ]_** See, what'd I tell yah? **_[_** **_He starts descending the ladder. ]_** Be sure to close the hatch when you come down!

Tillman: 

**_[ Tillman gives a short, yet deep, sigh, then starts to follow Mike down the ladder. ]_ ** I swear, you're leading us into a death-trap. . .

\- - - - -

**_[ The pair descend the ladder quickly at first. A few close calls with broken rungs cause them to slow down. When Tillman closes the hatch, the metallic klang reverberates rapidly in the vertical space. Their pace is slower than the retreat for the shadows, so by the time they reach the bottom of the shaft, the darkness has dispersed to the various cracks and gaps of the concrete and metal surfaces. ]_ **

**_[ The access-shaft itself is more or less unremarkable; there is the ladder, the hatch up above, and a simple metal sliding door here at the bottom. The amount of rust and cracks all over the chamber is disquieting, meaning the hatch's seals might have been broken when the earth was scorched, all that heat bending and twisting the metal. That's what Mike is hoping the cause is, at least. The alternatives are far worse. ]_ **

Michael: 

**_[ Mike goes over to the door, and tests the keypad next to it. There are a few weak beeps from the button presses. ]_ ** Ah ha! **_[ The door haltingly slides open. ]_ **

Tillman: 

Wow, you can open a door. Great job, so impressed.

Michael: 

**_[ He punches Tillman in the shoulder, avoiding his metal armor. ]_ ** This means there's at least some power active here, dumbass. **_[ He gestures towards the facility around the two. ]_ **

Tillman: 

Still no lights tho, mister mechanic-send. **_[ He takes his flashlight and points it though the now open doorway. Again, the shadows seem reluctant to let the light through. ]_ ** Fucking shadows. You'd think they get off from being so clingy. . . **_[ He looks over to Mike, and finds Mike staring at him. ]_ ** Whaaat? Don't tell me you got feelings for the dark?

Michael: 

You really don't remember this? I told you it like a thousand times! It's why I'm even here, in the flesh! **_[ Mike gesticulates wildly to emphasize his words. ]_ **

Tillman: 

Uhhhhh. . . Wait. . . **_[ His eyes shrink and his voice becomes a whisper. ]_ ** Oh, oh shit. Uh, **_[ He looks back out to the shadows, as he addresses them directly. ]_ ** Um, sorry Garages. I'm sure you guys are not having a fun time hiding in the shadows. **_[ He tugs at his popped armored collar. ]_ ** I remember getting into the Charleston Superposition was no easy time, either, not everyone made it indoors. . .

Michael: 

**_[ Mike whispers a thank you, and moves to the doorway, checks his flashlight, and wades into the shadow-filled corridor. ]_ ** Though, like, it's not just the Garages that are in there, all of Seattle's in there.

Tillman: 

**_[ He brushes a hand against the metal and concrete wall before following behind Mike. The wall is cool to the touch, almost clammy. ]_ **Yeah, I remember now. . .

Michael: 

If you focus hard enough, you can sort of see the shadows take their forms. . . **_[ He pauses in front of a corridor branching off to Tillman's right. After a few moments staring down it, he points, just off to the side. ]_ ** There! I think I see Malik over there! See, there's his tail swishing, and his ears there. **_[ Mike mutters to himself. ]_ ** I miss him, he was always so kind and cheery. . .

**_[ Tillman reaches Mike and looks to where he is pointing. He stands there, trying to see what Mike is seeing. After some time, he shakes his head and turns towards Mike. ]_ **

Tillman: 

I can't see him, or anyone else. Either your time way back in the shadows gave you some special power to see them, or. . . **_[ He sighs barely audibly, and puts a hand on Mike's shoulder. ]_ ** You're just seeing what you want to see.

Michael: 

I. . . I just. . . **_[ He tries to turn away, but is caught and pulled back in by Tillman. Mike decides not to resist, and rests his head on Tillman's shoulder. ]_ **I just miss all of them, you know? Swapping places was something we all agreed on, but fuck me if it doesn't hurt not having any of them around. These shadows aren't the same as before. . .

Tillman: 

No, no, I getcha. I. . . still remember how it felt when the Crabs ascended and just. . . left me and the others behind. I thought I had gotten through the feeling of being abandoned, of wondering what worth I had, and then the world ended and I think about the Thieves that didn't make it, and. . . like, how I shouldn't have made it. . . **_[ He pauses for a long moment. The only sounds in this place are from each other, and the soft distant whirring of some generator off deeper in this place. By all rights, it should be louder due to the thicker shadows, but it's probably on its last legs. . . Tillman takes a deep breath, and pulls away from Mike. ]_ ** Come on, we need to continue, yeah? We'll have time to be sad later.

Michael: 

**_[ Mike's hand lingers holding Tillman's before letting go. He stands back up straight, rubs the tears starting to form from his eyes, and takes a few deep breaths of his own. ]_ ** You're. . . you're right. Not much we can do about this problem now. **_[ He turns towards the other corridor and gives his backpack a good tug. ]_ ** Okay, the main control room should be this way.

\- - - - -

**_[ The two make their way through the metal corridors, Mike making each step forward with confidence, making turns this way and that, descending stairs at times. ]_ **

_**[ The pair make their way past machinery and equipment long left dormant. Pipes and ductwork criss-cross the walls, shuttling who-knows-what to who-knows-where. While the clutter is minimal, there is a thin patina of rust and moss over almost every surface, lazily reflecting back what little light passes through the shadows. As they move deeper and deeper, the shadows get thicker and more resistant to the flashlights. Their pace slows as they wade through the waist-deep shadows. ]** _

Michael: 

So uh, you said there was a question you wanted to ask me?

Tillman: 

Well, actually there are two now.

Michael: 

Color me shocked that you're thinking so hard lately. **_[ Mike cracks a grin and steps to the side, expecting to be charged at by a flailing Tillman. That moment never happens. He turns around to see Tillman standing still, his arms crossed. ]_ **

Tillman: 

That joke played itself out ages ago. Could you not bring it back?

Michael: 

Yeah, you're right, I'm sorry. This place just is. . . it's bring back a lot of old memories, and I thought of that, then couldn't resist the urge. Won't happen again. **_[ Tillman stares at Mike, who has a look of concern on his own face, for a moment, then a gentle smile rises on his lips. Satisfied the wound is mended, Mike takes the lead again, walking more leisurely. ]_ ** Go ahead, shoot.

Tillman: 

So first one, how do you still remember how to get around this place? Its gotta be at least, I dunno, like seven or eight years-

**_[ Mike interrupts him. ]_ **

Michael: 

It's been about thirteen full years since I was last here. Yeah, the apocalypse happened five years ago, but the last time I was actually in here was some eight years before that, when I got put in the shadows a second time. . . **_[ He slows to a stop, and sighs. His shoulders draw up, then relax just a little. Mike brushes back his lightly graying hair, adjusting the ponytail he keeps it in. ]_ ** I was. . . I was just so angry back then. I've learned it wasn't anyone's fault, least of all her's, but at the time, god it sucked.

Tillman: 

Yeah, I remember that. I remember that staticy phone call, you yelling. . . It wasn't pretty. . .

Michael:

Haha, yeah. . . I was just, so ready to do something, but I'm glad I didn't. But to answer your question, before then, I spent a lot of time here. Building Otee wasn't easy, it took some time to complete. I. . . I think I spent more time here than at my old place in those years. . .

Tillman: 

Dude, why didn't you tell me that before?

Michael: 

Well. . . What kind of person goes on about how they were such a loser back in the early days?

Tillman: 

Wow, deep cuts, bitch-send.

Michael: 

**_[ Mike can't help but let out a snorting pearl of laughter. ]_ ** Hey, you were totally uh, what's the word you used to use back then. . . **_[ He scratches his beard, then snaps his fingers. ]_ ** Ah ha, poggers! **_[ Tillman groans at this reminder of how much of a shit he used to be. ]_ ** Yeah, you were pretty poggers back then, I guess you're alright now.

Tillman: 

**_[ Tillman playfully slaps Mike on the shoulder. Mike rubs where Tillman slapped him, feigning greater hurt than was dealt. Tillman is unimpressed. ]_ ** I'm gonna pretend you forgot that and just move on. **_[ He sighs. ]_ ** The more important question I had was, how do you expect the Otee to still be working after all this time?

Michael: 

Well, it was designed to be able to stand up against the gods, so mechanically it should still be good. But like, hey, I built it once, nothing saying I can't build it back up again.

Tillman: 

**_[ He scratches the thin stubble that has grown over the past several weeks. ]_ **That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence, I don't think we have the FOOD on hand to last us long enough for that, but alright then, we'll deal, I guess.

Michael: 

Look, it's gonna be okay. We made it this far, trust me, this will be worth it. 

**_[ Tillman thinks he sees a momentary look of pleading on Mike's face. It passes in a blink of an eye, and Mike looks like his usual self. ]_ **

Tillman: 

I trust you, it's just. . . I worry, you know?

**_[ The pair resume their journey through the facility. ]_ **

\- - - - -

**_[ As they descend one more flight of stairs, their footfalls echo around them, spreading through the shadows like wildfire. The faint groan of the distant generator is slightly louder, just enough to be able to tell when it skips a cycle. Mike's pace slows as the plate above the double doors becomes visible around the shadows. It reads "MAIN CONTROL". ]_ **

Michael: 

Whew, finally here. Took us long enough.

Tillman: 

**_[ Tillman catches up with Mike. Despite everything helping him get more in shape, somehow he is still more winded than Mike. ]_ ** FINALLY, god, how did you manage this before?

Michael: 

**_[ Mike takes a moment or so to catch his breath before responding. ]_ **Well, I usually took the elevator, Tillbo, though these shadows haven't exactly made this easy going. Come on, let's get this place up and running.

**_[ Mike gives the double doors a hearty push, and they swing open, their sharp wailing belying the rust that has built up on the hinges. Mike strides self-assuredly inwards, while Tillman hangs back, a look of apprehension on his face. ]_ **

Tillman: 

**_[ He keeps his voice to a mutter, talking more to himself than anyone else. ]_** Well, here goes nothin'. I hope for his sake this works. Don't want to have to mop him up off the floor if it doesn't. . . **_[ He follows Mike into the room._** **_]_**

Michael: 

**_[ Mike speaks loudly from across the control room, fiddling at several different big control panels. Everything is arranged like the mission control rooms Tillman remembers seeing pictures of, right down to the reel-to-reels and CRT monitors. ]_ ** Everything is more or less how I left it. Just gotta restart the main generators, and then we'll be golden. Uh... **_[ He pauses. ]_ ** Can you come help with this? There's a lever over there you need to throw when I give the signal. **_[ Mike points his flashlight at a somewhat comically large lever on a distant control panel. ]_ **

Tillman: 

Oh uh, sure. **_[ He moves over to the lever. ]_ ** Um... why'd you design it like this? Wouldn't that make it harder to activate in an emergency, such as, I dunno, now?

Michael: 

Yeah, but that was the whole point. Making it harder for me to activate, I mean.

Tillman:

Whu... what. Why?

Michael: 

So I wouldn't activate it in anger or a fit of rage.

**_[ Mike releases the fists he didn't realize he was clenching. ]_ **

Tillman: 

Was that your idea, or theirs?

**_[ Mike doesn't answer and Tillman doesn't know what else to say. There is an awkward pause as the question hangs in the shadows. Mike then sighs, takes a deep breath and continues. ]_ **

Michael: 

Anyways, on the count of three, you ready?

Tillman: 

Uh, yeah, sure.

Michael: 

Okay. **_[ He moves his hands into position. ]_ **One. . . Two. . .

Tillman: 

Wait, on the count of three exactly or after it?

Michael: 

Oh my god, Tillster, on three, the number, when I say it.

Tillman: 

Okay, gotcha, sorry!

**_[ Mike chuckles that dies in a sigh before readying himself again. ]_ **

Michael: 

Let’s try that again. One. . . Two. . . Three!

**_[ Mike slams a big button on the console in front of him while Tillman pulls back the large switch. There is a moment of silence, followed by a deep groan from elsewhere underground which ratchets up to a continuous dull rumble. Ripples form on the shadows around the pair, bouncing in time with the soft vibrations. ]_ **

Tillman: 

Uh, did it work?

**_[ Tillman's question is answered by emergency red lights beginning to glow around the edges of the room, and then outlining a massive set of thick-set windows which the control panels were all oriented around. ]_ **

Michael: 

**_[ Muttering to himself ]_ ** So far, so good. . .

**_[ The rumbling pauses for a few moments, followed by an immense set of KER-CHUNK noises, as new blinding lights flood in one by one through the windows. The two cover their eyes as they get adjusted to the sudden brightness. ]_ **

Tillman: 

Wow. **_[ Through the windows, Tillman sees an immense room, large flood-lamps lighting up, one by one, slowly giving the chamber size and shape as the intense lights force the shadows elsewhere. ]_ ** But, uh. . . Where is it?

**_[ Mike has moved to a different control panel, typing in SGUNX commands on the keyboard. ]_ **

Michael: 

Just a sec! There, that should do it!

Tillman: 

**_[ Turning to face Mike ]_ ** Do what? The Otee's not there!

Michael: 

Just give it a moment, god. **_[ He points back out through the windows. ]_ ** Take a second look.

**_[ As Tillman turns back around to face the windows, a set of massive metal doors on the far side of the chamber slowly, grindingly open, and a new, strange shape emerges for the darkness. ]_ **

Tillman: 

I... I can't fucking believe it. . .

Michael: 

**_[ He steps up next to Tillman. ]_ ** Oh you better believe it!

**_[ There, on a massive platform sliding into the center of the chamber, is perched the equally massive machine, sitting in its normal mode. Its angularly bulbous body and eight pointed legs rest on the moving platform as it emerges slowly from the shadows. ]_ **

**_[ The machine's curved antenna still stands raised above it, and while the bright cream of the foot-tips have yellowed with age, they still catch the light in a dazzling shine. The exterior mounted speakers would look out of place, were it not for the knowledge of who built it. The cockpit looks like a shining crystal mounted on the front end of the body. ]_ **

Tillman: 

It's. . . It's beautiful!

Michael: 

And it's our ticket to safety, and maybe a fighting chance to fix this mess. . .

**_[ Though rusted over in places and moss-covered in others, the deep blue paint of the mech still shines bright under the flood-lamps. ]_ **

**_[ Mike checks a readout display before looking back up. ]_ **

Michael: 

The OCTO-THUMB is ready for launch!

**_[ A notification slides across the Fans' screens reading: MECH COMPLETED, PILOTED BY MIKE TOWNSEND. ]_ **

**_[ There is hope yet remaining in this world. ]_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this fic! I started as something I started writing in a group chat, and then it just sort of got away from me, heh. I don't know if I will write a continuation of this, but that brings me to the second bit:
> 
> Yes, this is intended to be set in a still active blaseball sim. The fic fudges some of the mechanics, but I have been working on a companion game design doc on how blaseball could be converted into a communal resource-management / survival-sim game while still using the baseball sim as the core resolution mechanic! My game design brain went brrr and has gone quite of the deep end in terms of trying to use existing systems or repurpose stuff that has already been implemented at one point or another. I'll link back to it whenever I finish it!


End file.
